


She Drank, Grabbed Gun, No Mercy

by MoonStarDutchess



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Complete, F/M, Gen, Guns, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 03:22:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12181935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonStarDutchess/pseuds/MoonStarDutchess
Summary: After Roy Mustang becomes fuehrer, Riza finally let's it all go, but life has no mercy.  Slight Royai    Warning: Story may be triggering to some.





	She Drank, Grabbed Gun, No Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own FMA and gain no profit from this fanfiction.  
> An: This was previously called A Door in the Mind. I’ve wanted to rewrite it for a while, but I’d been avoiding doing so. Currently, I’ve been in a bit of a dark place, writing is therapy for me so I decided to pour my guts into this fic.
> 
> AN: This story may be a trigger for suicide. If you or someone you know is thinking about suicide, please go to suicide (dot) org or befrienders (dot) org and call one of the many hotlines available there.

A little over ten years. That’s what it took before she could finally read in the paper that Roy Mustang was the new Fuehrer of Amestris. The headline, a single statement written in simple ink with bold font, was the most surreal sentence she’d ever read and probably ever would read. After all of those years of blood, stress, sweat, death, and tears, that wonderful man had reached his ultimate goal. That meant, her goal of pushing him to the top and watching his back as he ascended was complete. 

Before he was chosen to be fuehrer, they’d worked with the Ishbalans. The religious people insisted that war crime trials not occur. They’d stated that too many people had died and their religion preached against revenge. And they’d been so forgiving, that they’d thrown their support behind Roy despite what he’d done. They were kind to her despite her actions. 

She thought they were fools, but was grateful. 

That entire day, as Roy gave the speeches and dealt with the press, she noticed him occasionally glance at her. In lulls between the busyness, she’d catch him staring. His face was filled with a worried expression, and she knew he must’ve read her mood. He’d started to say something to her a few times, but he never managed to form the words to begin a discussion. She was thankful he hadn’t. 

She’d wanted this day to come for years. Worked so hard for it. Imagined how she would feel on that day. 

And her expectations shattered the moment she heard. She put on a smile to keep anyone from asking if something was wrong. She wouldn’t take the shine off his day. Off Amestris’ bright future. After the celebrating ended, she went straight back to work to try to rid herself of the emptiness she felt. 

Fortunately, the tasks of Roy’s acceptance speech, the ceremony planning, and her new position, kept that emptiness at bay, but in the back of her mind it was looming, ready to pounce the moment she didn’t weigh herself down with tasks. 

He was officially sworn in now, living at the fuehrer’s mansion and ready to set the country on a new path. She knew he needed her, and she needed to be with him. She had tasks to perform so it wouldn’t be much different, but now there wasn’t a seemingly insurmountable goal hanging precariously over them. 

She was here in the same apartment, going about her same routine, only with a new weight upon her. The tension inside her had increased gradually as she went about her evening tasks. She fed Hayate, fixed and ate her dinner, took a shower, then changed into her pajamas. All the while, her stress heightened more and more and more, sapping her energy with every movement. 

She thought she was over this. They were pardoned. The Ishbalans had forgiven her, as much as they could. She was no longer a hostage. The homunculi were gone. Everything was safer. 

She made her way to the living room and over to her bookshelf, but tonight she wouldn't be selecting a book. It was what was tucked in behind the books. A bottle of very expensive unopened whiskey. She kept it so she could celebrate with Roy. She’d be drinking alone instead. Why wasn’t what they did still bothering him? Why wasn’t he scared? 

After getting a glass from the kitchen, she walked into her small bedroom, locked her door, and sat on the bed. She opened the bottle, poured herself a generous amount of the golden liquid it contained, and sat the bottle on the table beside her within reach. 

Lifting the glass, she looked at the contents and smirked. “Roy’s medicine,” she muttered and took a large drink. The liquid streamed down her throat, burning it in the pleasure and pain way that only whiskey could. She made no outward signs it bothered her. She took another drink, followed by another, then another, then another. She drank like she was obsessed with emptying the bottle’s contents within the hour. Hoping, praying to a god she wasn’t sure was there that it would keep her horrible past, her fear of the future, and the emptiness, the pointlessness, from coming to her. Her eyes stared straight ahead, focusing on a bit of chipped red paint on the doorframe. 

Red. So much red. Like the blood. 

Roy’s goal had been the item pushed against the door in her mind that concealed her murderous past. She was supposed to be dead now. Death had always been the elephant in the room with the two of them. She was supposed to die after this happened. Not have to live with having a future and dealing with what she’d done. 

Thoughts bombarded her, taking turns before she pushed them back with another focus on liquor burning and chipped paint. It was selfish; she deserved to live with all of this. Her mental blockade slowly opened, inch by inch, flashbacks coming of the deplorable actions she committed. Blood splattered faces of the people she killed; faces she thought had been forgotten, flashed in front of her eyes. She heard the screams of the people when their family members fell to the ground because of her bullet. She heard their shrieks of pain and saw them as the flames from Mustang engulfed them. Flames that were there because of a choice she made.

“Goddamn it!” She hurled the glass across the room. She slid from the bed to the floor, grabbed her head, and clawed for a way to stop the images from taking over. She pulled her hair, ran her fingers down the side of her face. Anything. . . 

Hayate started scratching at the door and whimpered. 

Tears poured from her eyes and she screamed again, not caring who heard her. She’d do anything to drown out the cries in her head. 

At the same time of that assault, emptiness filled more of her. No purpose. She didn’t have a purpose anymore. Even if she was helping him. She was so useless. 

No use.

No use. 

The door in her mind was now wide open. She had no time to hate it, no time to think as she opened her bottom drawer where she knew a gun was waiting. She got it out, clicked off the safety, and put it to her head. Her heartbeat sped up as she placed her finger on the trigger. 

And pulled it. 

Click

Empty. 

Even her gun wasn’t showing her the mercy she longed for. 

But she hadn’t expected it to. 

Because she knew she didn’t deserve it. 

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This fic in no way shape or form condones suicide or the attempt. It does not condone the use of alcohol as an option to numb things. Realistically, that’s how some people try to cope. It isn’t intended to shame myself or anyone else. Talk to a friend, or a loving parent. If you don’t have that, there are places online to get help. If you need help, please please find the resources. Some of the many out there are befrienders (dot) org, suicide (dot) org, suicidehotlines (dot) com. All of them are international or have international numbers as options.


End file.
